


Brand Spanking New

by wellthatsood



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Awkward First Times, Bad Sex, Banter, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Kinktober, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthatsood/pseuds/wellthatsood
Summary: Kinktober Day 1: SpankingCharlie's got too many ideas in his head. Not all of them are necessarily good ideas, but Meyer's got big, pretty hands.Chosen because I don't think spanking is either of their kinks, and I wanted to write a "figuring stuff out" fic. Sexy buildup takes a left turn for the angst, ends up with some comfort fluff.





	Brand Spanking New

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: spank one out for dissociation 
> 
> Based on [this Kinktober list](http://goatsandgangsters.tumblr.com/post/164938252491/kinktober-2017). Fic also on tumblr [here](http://goatsandgangsters.tumblr.com/post/165946144761/brand-spanking-new-kinktober-day-1-spanking).

Meyer was—per usual—hunched over the table, shoulders drawn up tight towards his ears as he poured over the pages beneath him, the end of a pen between barely parted lips. He was completely still, apart from that hand. He would write a few words, scribbling in the margins with a scritch-scratch of urgency, but as his eyes roved the page line after line, his hand would drift upwards, slowly, absently, until the end of the pen brushed against the corner of his mouth. His lips parted to let it slide past—

Charlie cleared his throat. He stretched, shifting and uncrossing his legs. He’d been bored, a moment ago. Now, his pulse quickened, stirred back to life from the simple act of watching Meyer, who was unconscious of the fact that his most absent-minded movements could be so _engaging_. 

He stood abruptly, too much energy in his veins, too many thoughts weaving portraits through his mind—those _lips_ , those _hands_ , that _table_. Meyer didn’t notice the sound of footsteps; he jumped, even, as Charlie trailed his hand across the peaks and dips of his shoulder blades.

“Gotta be all tense, Little Man,” he chided in a husky tone. 

Meyer did not look up. “Am I ever not?” he shot back, speaking around the pen in his mouth, the curve of his lips around it only increasing Charlie’s “take me now” stare—not that he realized. 

“Need a little help workin’ out the kinks?” Charlie continued, as determined as Meyer was focused. Besides, that just made it more fun. He stopped behind him, kneading the pads of his fingers into the tight muscles of Meyer’s neck. He leaned his weight into him, slowly dragging his hands down until he met the hem of Meyer’s collar. “Don’t hurt blowin’ off a little steam,” he all but cooed, the pen-in-mouth image not gone from his mind. 

Meyer’s fingers tightened and his breath hitched just enough. Charlie smirked, deliberate and slow as he traced his thumb in tight circles. 

“Charlie—” 

“Mey.” He smirked, stooping to replace his fingers with his lips, brushing from the back of his neck to behind his ear. He relished the sharp intake of breath, the way Meyer turned his neck to him, eyes finally off his work and sliding closed, unbidden, even as one brow arched in a lingering challenge that Charlie would gladly accept. 

He draped an arm around Meyer’s neck, slinging his leg until he was sitting squarely in Meyer’s lap, straddling him, the edge of the table pressed into his back. “Hey,” he smirked, flat of his hand cupping the back of Meyer’s neck, knuckles brushing against the base of his hair. 

“Hello,” Meyer answered, cocking his head and wrapping arms around Charlie’s waist. He leaned into him, chin propped on Charlie’s shoulder. 

“Hey!” 

“I already said hello,” Meyer teased, but Charlie could feel him pick up his pen, jot something. They were too entangled for much movement—legs over chair, table in his back, arms wrapped around one another—but Charlie craned his neck, looking backwards. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re fuckin’ doin’!” 

Meyer tutted. “Like I don’t know what you’re doing either?” 

“S’different,” Charlie mumbled, pouting on Meyer’s lap. This wasn’t much fun, stuck there in koala-like embrace, but unable to so much as reach Meyer’s ear for a playful nip. 

“How’s it different, Charlie?” Meyer asked in that unfocused voice that said he’d resumed reading. 

“It’s different ‘cause—‘cause what I’m tryin’ do’s at least fun. You need’a break. Gotta have some fun and all that.” It was much easier arguing with his hands and his lips than with words; he could actually win that way. 

He couldn’t see him, but Charlie could hear the smile in Meyer’s voice. “I’m having enormous fun.”

Charlie grunted in protest. “Your book’s that interestin’, huh?” 

“No, I just like making you work for it.” 

_Oh_. Charlie’s stomach dropped and buoyed at the same time, catapulting somewhere into his throat. It was just a few words, but it seemed to suck the air right out of the room, until the world wobbled with the promise of it. “Oh,” he said, husky, licking his lips. He felt the rumble of Meyer’s chuckle against him. 

Well fine, if that’s how he was going to play it—Charlie could do the same. He only needed a quick tug on the base of Meyer’s hair, before he could reach his mouth, kiss him with all he had, a desperate urgency that had burst from the languid teasing. Meyer made a small noise against his mouth—surprise, desire, both—and Charlie heard the pen clatter on the wood as Meyer’s hands snaked up his back, grabbing hold. 

They pulled apart, slightly breathless, Meyer’s hair less neat than it had been a moment ago. 

“You’re very distracting,” Meyer chided, fingers brushing under the bottom of Charlie’s shirt and skating across his hipbone. Instinctively, Charlie arched into the touch. “I’m not going to get anything done with you here.” 

Charlie propped his elbows on Meyer’s shoulders, staring down at him with crooked grin. “S’that so bad?”

“No, but you are,” Meyer teased. 

“What’re you gonna do, spank me?” 

It fell from his mouth as a joke, a naughty thought that fit the moment. But watching Meyer react, eyes going wide, brow furrowing, flustered—Charlie wanted to make that happen again. 

“Is, uh, is that—” Meyer swallowed and Charlie’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching the bob of his throat as he tried to subdue his own nerves. “I—I don’t think you’d _quite_ fit over my lap, Charlie.” 

Charlie spluttered a half-laugh; it was his turn to be shocked. “Listen to you!” He laughed again, licking his lips to try and call back how words worked. “Over the knee, huh? That how you wanna do it? Didn’t know you hadda preference.” 

Meyer burned a slightly darker shade of pink. “Isn’t that… how people do it?” he asked with ever-escalating pitch. 

“One’a the ways, sure,” Charlie shrugged, grin wolfish. He didn’t know what he liked more—the burn in Meyer’s cheeks or the moments when he surprised him with a filthy remark. But what was so wrong about having your cake and eating it too? 

“Or you could have me right here,” he intoned, tilting his face into the crook of Meyer’s neck, till his breath brushed his skin. “Could bend me right over the table—wouldn’t be the first time, huh?” 

Once he started talking, it was hard to stop. It wasn’t something he thought about too much before, but he knew just from living in the world what people got up to. And Meyer did have those nice, broad hands, which Charlie was now reaching for, massaging Meyer’s palms with the tips of his fingers, leaning forward to kiss his knuckles. 

“C’mere,” he cooed, backing off Meyer’s lap and onto the table. He pulled Meyer along with a hand on his shirt, hooking him with his ankles and reeling him in. Without another word, their arms were wrapped around each other again, exchanging passionate kisses, hands trailing, teeth teasing with bites. 

Unceremoniously, Charlie leaned back, his hands landing on paper. He shoved—books and paper and pens clattered as he cleared the table.

“Do—do you really want—?” Meyer asked against his lips. 

Charlie shrugged. “Somethin’ new, right?” he reasoned. And even though Charlie didn’t know what to expect, he liked the thought of not knowing, the freshness of it. “Yeah?” He caught Meyer’s hands in his, bringing them to the top of his waistband. Meyer looked up at him and carefully undid the fastening. 

It felt a little sexy at first, lowering his pants over his hips, smirking as he felt Meyer’s eyes on him. It was unusual, being half-exposed, inverted in his nudity, while Meyer remained as clothed as ever. It even felt good turning around, planting his palms on the table, stepping back to more prominently offer his ass and imagining Meyer’s eyes taking it all in. “Lookin’ good?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder. 

His skin prickled with expectation, or maybe just with cold. 

“You look—yes,” Meyer stammered. 

“I look yes?” Charlie teased, craning his neck to watch Meyer blush. 

“Yes.” He repeated, firm and just a little sarcastic. “Are you supposed to be looking at me? Doesn’t that ruin the anticipation?” 

Charlie obliged, turning back around to stare at the far wall, but he smirked all the same, “So you _do_ know more about this than you’re lettin’ on.” 

“What can I say, you’ve rubbed off on me.” 

“I’ll do that next if you want,” Charlie answered. It wasn’t a bad thought, either. Sure, this was a little warm up—in more ways than one—but the main thing was the hands everywhere, the frantic energy and desperation. This was the opposite—isolated, almost. Waiting thundered his ribs in his chest. There was something to be said for the anticipation, though. 

The lightest pat fell against his ass. It was barely even a tap. 

“Oh c’mon, Mey! You can do better than that! I seen those hands, I know you can do better.” He’d felt more force from a gentle breeze. 

“I don’t—There’s a— _Fine_ ,” Meyer stammered; Charlie wished he could see him flush. He liked looking at him too much, liked watching that careful look in his eyes, the firm press of his lips in thought (or in other things), the way the heat rose in his cheeks. He liked feeling their limbs all twined together. The table just felt hard under his hands, and while it wasn’t the only thing that felt a bit wooden—

The smack seemed to echo in the room, a flaming sting radiating across his ass. Charlie jumped, fingernails clawing at the table. “OW! _Fuck_ , Mey, ow! Jesus fuck! Not _that_ hard!”

“You said harder!” Meyer sniped from somewhere behind Charlie, voice rising in indignation. 

“Yeah, but not _that_ hard. Don’t smack my ass right off me or nothin’. I need it for… you know.”

Meyer sighed, with ragged annoyance. “Fine. How’s this?” 

The smack was sharp, squarely on his ass, somewhere between a gentle pat and a back-alley left hook—Charlie’s hips instinctively pulled forward. Meyer’s palm left heat on his skin, a stinging tingle. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah. Better.” 

“Alright.” 

A pause, then another—sharp, the heavy smack of skin-hitting-skin. Charlie sucked air through his teeth. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, sighing as he let the weight of his head hang down over the table. His skin tingled expectantly, something of a thrill left in the spreading heat, his heart hammering with suspense. A shiver ran down his spine—maybe it was a little too cold, exposed like that. 

“Is that what you—?” Meyer asked, either quietly or very far away. 

Charlie nodded and then—remembering Meyer was behind him—cleared his throat and said, “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.” 

He licked his lips. He tensed, waiting—the hand came down on him once, twice, once more, then a pause. It was really starting to sting now and he shifted again, like he could dodge away from it, but it happened again, hot and searing on his skin. 

His pulse picked up, far faster than each strike, as his eyes locked onto the grain of the wood under him. He watched it, tracing the pattern up, down, up, down—a swat, a hiss through his teeth, he grit them tighter and waited for the next. It hurt, now, and he was alone; alone with the rhythm, the sharp sting, the harsh slap echoing in his ears. 

The hand came down again, again; he twitched, breathing, waiting, breathing, wincing, knuckles clenched on wood as he ducked his head lower. 

There was nothing, he realized. The pause lengthened. Charlie waited. The waiting was worse.

“Charlie?” It was Meyer’s voice. It was Meyer’s voice behind him, tentative, soft, a warmth that flickered with a spark like the end of a lighter. Some part of him burst with longing at the sound; he missed Meyer, missed his smirk, missed his dark eyes, missed the scent of him under Charlie’s nose as they pressed skin to skin. 

“ _Charlie_?” A hand soft on the small of his back and he flinched. “Charlie, you should stand up?”

His mouth felt too dry to speak, but he nodded, with several bobs of his head before his body finally moved to follow. He turned around to face Meyer, before leaning back on the table out of instinct and wincing. Never mind. Bad idea. He straightened up, licked his lips. 

Meyer was looking up at him with wide dark eyes. Those were nice. They were pretty—warm and soft. He was hesitating, lips twitching in words he didn’t know how to form. They were very nice lips. “Are you—Do you want… pants, too?” he asked, the slight humor in his voice doing little to mask the concern in his eyes. 

“Mey,” he said, slow, like waking up. “When’ve I ever wanted pants?” 

Meyer snorted and Charlie smiled, feeling the room settle into something familiar. All the same, he reached down and pulled his pants back up. If nothing else, it was a little cold just standing there bare. Maybe later, it would be a better time—but for now, it seemed better to be dressed.

He exhaled. Meyer was still looking at him that way Charlie didn’t like, with too much concern; he was keeping his distance, too, which Charlie liked even less. 

“What, do I smell or somethin’?” he asked, motioning Meyer closer with a jerk of his head. Meyer smirked, stepping forward to snake his hands around Charlie’s waist, leaning into his chest. Charlie rested his cheek on Meyer’s hair, kissing it, as he felt Meyer sigh against his chest. This was as familiar as the walls—mint-green paint peeling in the corner—and the lamp throwing faded golden light. 

As the seconds passed, Charlie cleared his throat. “So uh, maybe next time, we keep it simple, huh? A nice, good fuck on the table, nothin’ fancy?” he said with a breathy laugh, trying to shake the tension and uncertainty that had settled with the first crack against skin.

Meyer snorted. “Well, when you put it that way—so poetically and all,” he teased. After a pause and a sigh, he said, softer, “I didn’t really—I don’t want—”

Charlie squeezed, in both apology and gratitude. “No harm tryin’ anything once, right?” 

Meyer’s fingers bunched in the back of his shirt. “As long as you say it is.” 

Charlie paused, pursing his lips as he buried his nose in Meyer’s hair and inhaled. “You know what I say?” he asked, voice muffled by Meyer’s scalp. “We oughta grab some food.” 

“Dare I ask what inappropriate ideas you have in mind?” Meyer asked, needling a finger into Charlie’s side. 

“Mey, get that head’a yours off such dirty things,” he teased, standing upright and looping his arms over Meyer’s shoulder, smirking down at him. “I’m only sayin’, I figure you ain’t eaten all day, right?” 

Meyer bobbed his head from side to side, considering. “It’s been… a few hours, yes. I’ll pick up sandwiches, you get the table cleared?” he asked. 

Charlie snorted, glancing over his shoulder. There were a few papers still staking their claim on the surface of the table, while the rest of Meyer’s books lay scattered in a haphazard heap on the floor. “Sounds like a square deal to me.” 


End file.
